Witch Hunter
by Peter Madsen
Summary: Drevor Amell has slain the Archdemon and saved Fereldan from the blight, but still he finds no rest. Morrigan has fled in the wake of celebration, leaving him with no option but to chase her, if not for his own sake than for that of Thedas itself.
1. Chapter 1

Well doesn't seem to like Notepad, which is what DarkRoom uses, but hopefully this'll be easier on the eyes. This whole chapter is subject to change because my thoughts were all over the place when I wrote it, and I think it shows quite a bit. I'll have the 2nd chapter up soon, too. Oh, and thanks for the reviews!

WITCH HUNTER

"I understand completely.", Alistair said. King Alistair; his voice was different now. Maybe I was just imagining it, but it wasn't as lively. I had ignored that I wasn't the only one to lose something to the Archdemon.

"No, Alistair, you don't. I pray you never do." I said. Friends shouldn't part on such solemn notes, so I put my hand on his shoulder and said "Maker be with you, friend." He nodded, as if urging me to go. I required little prodding in this, though.

First Enchanter Irving greeted me as I stepped down the cold stone steps, and he shook my hand fervently. In the end the Circle of Magi had come out ahead, though at great cost. The fees and fines of progress, I suppose, though what a maudlin thought. All my thoughts now were maudlin and angst. Perhaps I saw the journey ahead. There was only one road, and it would be long and lonesome. I wouldn't have Alistair's jokes to cheer me up when the path turned dark, nor Leliana's soothing voice to dispel the darkness of my own mind, or Mo-

I could not finish thinking her name without my heart growing fast, as if racing towards the end. My breathing grew haggard as I thought of myself perishing on the road, never again knowing her touch. I kept my composure, though. It was the greatest pain I had ever felt, but my appearance was numbed. Ever since the joining that feeling was there, that numbness, but now it was so great I wondered if it would swallow me. I had to find her, if for no other reason than to try and go without her would be my death.

Oghren paid no heed as I passed, but Sten beckoned with his eyes. I made my way to him. Each moment the inevitable trail would grow colder, but the Qunari was not one to be ignored. He let me go without taking much of my time, and after that I never saw him again. He returned to his homeland and I feel shamed that when finally he might have opened up to me and perhaps answered my questions I was in too great a hurry to ask them. I doubt he cared, though. Perhaps it was relieving for him, finally being free of talk from we shorter folk.

The guard led me to my escort and I walked through Denarim, and put on a brave and happy face for the people. They had suffered much, and perhaps the idea of a happily-ever-after ending would help them ease back into their old lives, for those of them who had anything to go back to. By the end I was nearly enjoying myself, my troubles forgotten, but I saw a flash of pointy black hair in the crowd, moving forward through the crowd. When finally she appeared I had to tear my gaze from her, but I could tell before I did that she was disconcerted at my scornful stare.

The parade ended at a wooden scaffold in the middle of the royal square. Alistair climbed it and gave a speech that seemed to drag on for hours about the strength of the people and that everyone's help would be needed to rebuild. He stumbled his way through it, but spirits were high and for the cheering he may as well have been a master orator.

I waited at the bottom of the scaffold, surrounded by guards holding back the tides of people who might crusn us under their adoration. Lady Anora was there, only 5 feet from me, but she didn't look at me. I didn't blame her; but a few days ago I had killed her father. I still don't know that that was the right decision. I will never know.

Alistair climbed down slowly, waving to the crowd as he did, and hopped over the bottom few rungs to the ground. He and the lady went toward the palace above, and the crowd followed. My escort had disappeared, which was fortuitous. I wanted none to be aware of my leaving until the act was done.

This was because I felt shameful. She had manipulated me through it all, and I knew it. Yet still I hunted her, even when she was done with me. A plaything discarded yet still eager to please. What a pathetic thing.

The gate out to the open lands of Fereldan was open and I was glad to avoid any other people. I was so anxious that their faces all seemed to blend into one- a face I longed to forget.

Finally, when I was out of sight of the city I went off the road a ways and sat down in the grass. The foolishness of my intentiones began to fully dawn on me. I was hunting a woman who did not want to be found. The ring I wore would let her know where I was at any time and yet I couldn't throw it away. It was the only sign that she had ever existed, apart from an empty hut in the Korcari Wilds.

I felt the despair for a moment, and the ring seemed to echo my sentiments. I wondered what that might mean as I fell asleep in the grass.


	2. Chapter 2

My dreams were the calmest they had been in months. There were no hordes of darkspawn or an Archdemon roaring above them, simply a child. My child, perhaps. She was young and beautiful, with long dark hair and yellow eyes. I was there, as well, though like many dreams I merely watched what I did without control.

I greeted the child and she giggled, but with malificence where most children have innocence. Then a shadow appeared and entered her. She changed into Morrigan, who laughed and, with a flick of her wrist, smote me with dark flames, and she giggled as I burned and clawed at my blackening flesh. As my corpse rotted and turned to dust she laughed, and the world itself turned to flame and ashes and her laughter persisted.

The meaning of these images was not beyond me. They were little more than conjurations of my mind, however. A truth may have reflected within them, or many truths, surely, but those who follow dreams are often lead to nightmares. I had seen the nightmares of many a lifetime, and I had little taste for them.

I followed along the Imperial Highway, and through every village I passed I gathered of a black-haired woman with piercing eyes. I met a merchant just out of Fairmeet whom she had tricked with her charms. He said that she was the widow of one of the soldiers lost at Ostagar, returning to her home from Denarim, where she had hoped to collect his backpay to support her family. Alas, he said, the money couldn't be spared at the time and now she would return to her village and her family with nothing. The merchant had spared her some food and a few silvers.

I didn't tell him the truth, because what he had done was kind and he didn't deserve the anger of knowing her betrayal. Or perhaps in my ignorance I merely wanted her to be seen by others in a positive light. I remembered when I had told Alistair of Morrigan's plan, before we faced the Archdemon. His former mild contempt of her turned to outright disgust, and it pained me that he would despise her so, even though it was entirely deserved. I was not eager to feel that way again.

Thus I persisted ever onwards in the wake of the last witch of the wilds, my desperation slowly fading to the back of my thoughts. It was good to find a respite from that crushing feeling of hopelesness, and for a few nights sleep came to me easily. As the road turned towards Orgrimmar and the Frostback Mountains, though I began to grow restless.

I daydreamed more and more and my mind took me back to the Brecilian forests and settled in amongst the overgrown roots and gnarled limbs. I could smell the sweet pollen, like perfume, even now. We camped one night among the elves, before we had set out to stop the curse. Before I went to bed, I went to Morrigan to prod her into teaching me to shapeshift. To my surprise, she agreed, though reluctantly.

She lead me into the forest, and for perhaps hours she moved slowly and carefully across the leaf-covered ground. We came upon a creature eventually, but I could just barely make it out in the darkness. Morrigan cast a spell, and for a moment the entire area was illuminated in a bright blue light as a small orb of energy passed from her to the animal. I could see now it was a deer, paralyzed in terror. When the spell hit it, it seemed to loosen up, and walked towards us with a friendly look in its eye.

"Now you must study it. To take its form you must know its form like you know your own. No amount of staring, however, will allow you to take my form, so you can stop looking at me that way.", she said and gestured toward the deer, which was now sniffing my pockets.

I touched it gently and it didn't flinch, so I ran a hand over its back. It made a noise that indicated pleasure, sort of like a purr, and Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "Shall I leave you two alone?"

I felt my hands over the deer's legs and its antlers. It merely looked back at me with curiosity, and then sniffed my face.

"No," I said. "I'd prefer if you joined us." Morrigan laughed and the deer seemed to become frightened of her, though only momentarily.

Then she told me how to take the deer's shape, and I can't remember . If I could I might have tried to learn it again on my own. But what I really dreamed of was what happened afterwards when I took her hand and we danced in the moonlight. I had never before seen her so carefree and, dare I say, happy. She was as though a different person.

I prayed that other person was the one I was chasing now.


	3. Chapter 3

Quick Author's Note:

Thanks for all the reviews so far, it helps a lot to know I'm not just writing this for myself

*

The road wound on and on, through rain and sunshine, and when it turned south I began to worry about where it might lead. If Morrigan was returning to the Korcari wilds then she was doing it in a very roundabout way, and I doubted she was going to Redcliff. There were a great many woods before getting to the wilds, but they were of a much tamer sort. Of course, not all Wilds lay to the south, and the Frostback Mountains were certainly wild.

That was what I worried for. I knew little of the Avvarians, who made their homes in the frigid plateaus there, but it was an oft-hostile land and such places often breed hostile people. Even if she avoided the Avvar, there was still the frigid temperatures and blizzards and whatever hardy animals the Avarr survived on.

As the days wore on, it became obvious that this was her intention, to brave the mountains, and I wondered if she could feel my panic through the ring. I prayed for the first time, to whatever god might listen, to let me reach her before she made her way between the mountains, but my pleas fell on deaf ears, and before long I found myself in a wide valley, frigid and wet enough for snow and yet bereft of it.

Despite the moisture in the air and on the trees, the water didn't gather here, perhaps because of the altitude. I thanked the maker for it, because I'm not sure I would have survived a tromp through an untrodden marsh. I had eaten so little since my departure from Denarim that I was much thinner than I had ever been in my adult life. Had I never learned the magics of the Arcane Warrior I may have had to abandon my armor there as well. I suppose this was all good fortune but I did not see it as such at the time.

After my first rest in the forest pass, I felt considerably more at ease. I had seen no sign of life, apart from a scattered flock of birds, and a semblance of a trail had appeared a short march from my camp. Perhaps the witch didn't follow the path, now that we were in her domain, but I had no other option. There were no villages that I knew of until the pass ended in Orlais, so I would no longer be able to track her by simply asking after her.

The rough path I found was meandering and, at times, claustrophobic. At times it passed directly through ancient trees, as if it had been laid by something immaterial and to which trees posed no obstacle. Of course, such a being would probably not require a trail through the forest. As I followed though, I began to notice the trees move. There was no breeze, no signs of life apart from an owl that seemed to track my progress through the wood, yet if I turned my head and turned back the branches would shake as if something had just leapt from them.

With each of their movements the trees guided me away from the path, stretching to block my passage like wooden prison bars. I had to find my way around many such blockages, though it seemed that my path was not to be blocked, merely detoured at every opportunity. I considered evoking flame to clear a path, but I didn't wish to garner the hostility of whatever it was that could bend the iron will of a forest.

The air was heavy with chill and difficult to breathe, making my hike exhausting. I set up my camp as soon as the sun fell so that I could rise early the next day and be free from the captivity of the trees, or whatever forest spirit saw it acceptable to toy with me, as soon as possible.

My dreams that night were not my own, of this I am certain. Throughout the restless dark there was some foreign presence probing my mind, a face with large round eyes, as if a man had taken the shape of an owl but stopped mid-way through the transformation. It scoured the dusty corners of my memories, and it painfully dispelled any barrier I tried to form to stop its invasion. Finally, when it had its fill I suppse, it showed me a familiar scene that had played out in my mind time and time again, but I saw it in a different light.

I saw a small boy, sobbing into the sleeve of a soft robe. At his feet were two ends of a staff, broken in some marvelous accident I can no longer recall. Yet at the same time the boy was a girl of wilder dress, hiding the tears in her eyes as she gathered the scattered pieces of a mirror, broken not by accident. I remember my instructor telling me I was a fool and punishing me. It was my fault, as I remember, so my punishment was justified, or so I believed. As I said though, I could not remember the circumstances under which I managed to shatter a magic staff, and perhaps it was truly an innocent accident. Or perhaps this was meant to imply to me that we're all victims of fate or fortune or the maker's whims, though that view is too disconnected from responsibility for me to accept.

When I awoke the forest had grown even colder, and I desired nothing more than to be away from the company of the frozen giants around me.


	4. Chapter 4

Wooh, marathon writing session, although I should really be working on my NaNoWriMo entry

Now with extra editing!

*

I awoke with the rising of the sun and set about my path determined. I didn't let the conspirations of the trees slow me down, and I set a quick pace, barreling through the smaller branches and dodging the larger ones. Whatever the trees were protecting was likely the cause of their mischief, and I intended to to end it.

I did wonder about the invasion of my dream the night before, and the meaning of what the intruder showed me. I knew of Morrigan and the mirror of course, but now it was as if I had experienced it myself. Perhaps I had, and that's what it meant: that Morrigan and I were more similar than I would have cared to admit.

I couldn't think much, though, as the trees doubled their efforts, bending their trunks slowly ahead of me, forcing me to weave in and around them, a feat that would have proven impossible without my arcane enhancement. I ran through most of the morning and began to feel as if I was running in circles. Then I saw the owl, from the day before, flying beside me. It crossed in front of me and flew away from the trail, then, and I took a chance and followed. The forest seemed to cry in anger and now every living branch swung itself at me like the traps of a madman's gauntlet. Ahead of me was a thorny bush, which the owl glided over skillfully. I leapt, and crashed through it into a grassy clearing.

From somewhere deeper in the forest I heard echoes of chants and shouts. The owl seemed to float at around head hight, and then it was a man. It was not a transformation, like shapeshifting, I simply became aware that he was not an owl, but a man. It's not a good explanation, I know. That is how it was described in a book I read, "On The Magic Of The Avvar", and I have never read a more apt description.

"The forest spirit is angry. He doesn't know why, she will not answer his cries.", The man said. The wrinkles in his face were deep, . He had no hair on top of his head, but a long dirty beard that touched the ground. It was tied into two braids, and one was tucked behind each shoulder. Despite the icy air he wore little beyond a tattered pair of breeches and a green cloak tied with a precious jeweled brooch.

"Who is 'he'?", I asked, my hand on the hilt of my sword. The Avvar Shamen often became abominations, as they had no formal training or enforcement. This shaman, though, appeared to be merely insane. Perhaps that made him more dangerous.

"He communes with spirits. He summoned the forest spirit to help travellers, but now it is angry and so now is the forest. You must help him.", he said. I didn't respond.

"The spirit will not let you leave, so you must help him. He is sorry."

"Did you see a woman here, in this forest?", I asked him, and he scratched his head and stared at me.

"Did HE see a woman? In this wood?", I asked. The man laughed and said, "Which wood? There is lots of wood, hehe! He saw a woman in the forest, yes. He will tell you where she is! You must help him first!", he said. He quickly went from humor to anger, and demanded my help again and again, screaming and cursing me before I had had a chance to answer.

"What can I do?" I asked, through gritted teeth. If Morrigan had made it through the forest then, with every moment, she could slip further away. If she hadn't then she was in danger. It was in my best interests, either way, to solve the problem. I worried, though, that this 'spirit' might be a demon, which I would be ill-equipped to excise. Further, I had assumed that handling upset spirits would be his expertise, considering he regularly communed with them. Or should have, at least.

"He will lead you to the spirit. Usually it sleeps always, even when people come through. Did you wake it? Why did you wake it? Why would you wake the spirit?!", he asked, and then began again with the shouting, but still he began to lead me so I followed silently. Eventually his voice grew hoarse and his shrieking ceased.

"He hopes it will see you. Maybe it is mad at him? It would see him before, but now it won't. We shouldn't hurt it. Will you hurt the spirit?"

"As long as it is benevolent", I said, "It will not come to harm." The shaman raised an eybrow.

"Hehe, you speak like it! It will like you. I hope it will. I like you. You didn't wake the spirit. Did you? You didn't, did you?"

This went on for some time. I could extract few answers from him before he would begin to yell at me until his face went red. According to the old man, he had lived in the forest since 'the beginning'. Not long after the beginning the spirit came to him in the fade, hoping he would help it cross the veil. He summoned the spirit, and to thank him the spirit promised to protect the forest and the shaman. It was possible that, for some reason, the spirit mistook me for a threat to the old man or the forest itself. Each time he paused, between bouts of screaming, I could hear a sort of murmur ahead of us. I couldn't make out the words it used, but its voice was full of malice and hatred.

Finally we found ourselves at a large ring of trees, and the mumbling I had heard throughout the long hike seemed to come from within. Though night had come, a bright light from within the ring illuminated most of the area. The shaman put his hands on two of the trees and bowed his head. In his silence I could finally understand the voice from within, though it put me on edge.

"Scratch, punch... maim, hurt, kill! Kick, kill, kill kill! Hit and bite and pull! Hurt, scratch, bite!", it said in an inhuman tone. The trees slowly parted and I could see the spirit sitting in the middle of the cluster of trees, its fists clenched so tightly that they would have turned white were its skin not already such a luminescent, pearly hue. The shaman slowly stepped over the curved tree trunk, and I followed.

The ghostly spirit stopped its violent chant and turned to me, twisting its face into an expression of pure, unbridled rage. Its black eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets.

"YOU! YOU DID THIS! I WILL HURT YOU, I WILL MAIM YOU, I WILL KILL YOU!", it said, pointing at me. Its entire arm shook in anger, and after a moment it seemed unable to keep its finger apart from the rest of its fist and tightened its grip again.

"You said you didn't wake the spirit! You liar! You lied to him!" the shaman said, and threw some type of nut at me with great force. Had it hit my head I might have been dazed for some time, but it bounced off my pauldron instead and, by some stroke of incredible luck, hit the Shaman square in the temple. He cried and fell to the ground, screaming and shouting like before.

The spirit, meanwhile, charge me, and I hardly had time to pull the shield from my back. The spirit clawed at it and me, and I put all my strength into one mighty heave against it. The move hardly earned me any breathing room, however. I hadn't eaten in two days, and now, after a breakneck jog and a long hike through the woods my stamina was drained, and my strength sapped. In my condition, I was hardly fit to hold a sword, let alone shove around a berserk spirit.

Acting quickly, I meant to paralyze the demon, but in my weakened state I cast an entirely different spell by accident, one for dispelling magical effects. The spirit tripped and fell into my shield, knocking us both to the ground. It went silent, and the only sound was the shaman, who had stopped yelling and now said 'Ow!' over and over again.

"Are you alright?" I asked the spirit, who was stirring.

"I am... calm. Did I hurt you? I don't know what... what happened. A woman came into the forest. The trees awakened me, but there was no danger so I returned to my rest, and... now I am here.", it said and helped me to my feet. Then it went to the old shaman and pulled him up as well.

"I'm fine. Can you ask the trees where the woman went?", I asked him, and the spirit turned its face upwards and was silent for a moment.

"She came into the forest, and then while I-... she cursed me! They say she crept to me while I slept, and it was her who... who is she?" it asked, in an accusatory tone. I didn't blame it, though. I'm sure I might have seemed partially responsible, and perhaps I was. Would she have come this far if I weren't chasing her? She had cursed the spirit, after all, only so that I might be delayed.

"She's a witch. She has m-... a child. The child is important.", I said, and again I felt a great shame. The child she bore was neither mine nor hers now. That child was lost forever, and for what purpose? To preserve the life of the Archdemon. Thousands of men had given their lives so that it might be ended and it was all in vain.

"How so?" The spirit asked. It was prying now, and I didn't appreciate considering I had just saved it from a painful curse.

"The child has the soul of an Old God within it. The story is long and painful to recall, but do you wish to know of all the friends I lost? Will that sate your curiosity?", I snapped, and from the ring on my finger came some dull feeling that I couldn't make out through my own anger. The spirit took its time responding.

"I... I did not mean to offend."

The Shaman had not been paying attention before, but at some point in my angry relapse he took a keen interest in what I was saying. His eyes grew wide with marvel and he approached me as if I was the maker himself, descended from his throne in the golden city so that all could worship at his feet, or something of equal majesty.

"An old god? He must see! He must see it while he can still see! You must take him! You must!" He began to raise his voice, but the spirit calmed him, and looked at me as if to garner sympathy for the old man. In truth, I wanted nothing more to do with either of them.

"May I know your name, stranger?", the spirit asked.

"Drevor.", I answered with a sigh. My reply was icy, as I hoped to dissuade the spirit from asking what it was about to ask. This plan was foiled quickly.

"Well Drevor, Mjoll, my friend here, is a skilled tracker. He can help you find your witch.", the spirit said, gesturing toward the old man.

"Or, you could simply tell me where she went and I can be on my way."

It was the spirit's turn to sigh, now, and it said, "She left the forest, going south. Deeper into the mountains. I do not think you capable of finding her on your own, and I must stay to watch the forest. It is my duty."

Again the ring echoed a feeling, and now I could tell it for what it was- despair. I felt the same as I told Mjoll to lead us to a clearing. I longed to fall asleep under the stars. It was the most restful night I had experienced in the forest. The shaman tried to come in again and search my thoughts, but the spirit chased him off and left me to my dreams.

I suspect though, that whatever he had done the night before was still in my mind.

There is a teenage boy in an apprentice's wizard robes, studying, while from the next room the sounds of merriment waft in to distract him. He grows angry and, with a quick spell, extinguishes the light from the chandelier above the merrymakers. It has no effect on them, and he buries his face into his forearms, but no one else is around to see. A young and awkward girl watches a carriage roll down a dirt path from within the shadows of an overgrown forest. It stops at the edge of a town and she stares longingly as a young noble gracefully steps to the ground. A young woman runs from the village; she's the same age as the girl in the forest. She falls into his arms and they kiss. The girl in the forest drops a small, carved wooden heart in the grass as she runs back to the dark place behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

As we made our way out of his forest, the Shaman asked me why Morrigan was running away, and I found I didn't have an answer for him. I hadn't thought about it, really. She was running away and I was going after her. He said I could chase her forever but if I didn't know why she was running, then she would forever elude me. I asked him why he bothered to come, and he didn't answer.

He told me that he didn't dream. He couldn't remember why, but there was a very good reason, he was sure. That was why he kept entering my dreams, because he had none of his own. I didn't quite believe him, but he swore up and down that it was the truth. As to why he was searching my memories, he was merely 'curious'. I resolved to be rid of him as soon as possible.

The shaman lead me to a small pond in the forest and told me that he would return when he found her trail. I didn't question how he would do it, as I was glad to be alone again.

In the reflection of the pond I could see my gaunt face, and was reminded that it had now been 3 days since I had eaten. My body had degraded to the point that I might have been a brother to the shaman, though my hair was still black as it had always been. It brought me back to when I first left the Circle with Duncan. I might have been even thinner then. I would often bury myself in books and study and forget to eat. I had grown a beard so that I would appear older and more experienced, though all that remained of it was a thick stubble on my chin.

The water was freezing, but very clean for such a pond. I imagined that the shaman or some other denizen of the forest must have maintained it, or perhaps it was some type of magic that kept even the falling leaves of the trees from contaminating it. Despite the grime on my body, the water remained clear and clean and I drank a great deal of it. I felt full I nearly fell asleep in the water, only bothering to crawl out of the water and pull on my leather breeches before falling asleep.

I awoke soon after to the sound of heavy footsteps crushing the grass beneath them and the clang of armor plates sliding against each other. When I finally pried my eyes apart a woman in thick plate armor kneeled over the pond and drank voraciously. She seemed to grow impatient at how long it took to drink from the surface and dunker her head under the water. After a considerably long time she pulled her head from the pool and collapsed backwards, breathing heavily.

"Who are you?", she said, as if she had only just noticed me. Her accent was confident and fiery, with a heavy Orlesian accent.

"I- who are you?", I asked, still confused. Her breastplate bore a golden symbol of the sun.

"You don't look Avverian, nor do you sound Orlesian. Then you are from... Fereldan, yes?", the way she snarled 'Fereldan' told me everything I needed to know about her loyalties.

"Yes. I take it you come from Orlais?", I asked, and she nodded proudly.

"I am Veronique le Chevalier and I would know your name." she said, removing a gauntlet. I hesitated to respond, wondering if a false name might suit me better, but I doubted the Chevaliers would have heard or cared about me.

"Drevor.", I said, as one of her pauldrons fell from her shoulder. Underneath her armor she wore a coat of fine chainmail, and now I could see her face, unobstructed. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, in a practical sense. She reminded me of a drawing of Andraste from a tome I had found in the Tower. I'm sure the picture wasn't truly accurate, as the book wasn't more than a century old, and so the artist could not have ever seen Andraste with his own eyes. As I recalled, the tome was for a younger audience, hence the illustrations, though I wondered how the children took to the ending.

"Here.", she said, and tossed me a small satchel. Inside were a number of strips of dried and salted meat."You look hungry."

"Thank you.", I said and ate one. It had a great deal of salt, much more than I would have liked, but it was food all the same and I was grateful to have it.

"What brings you to the pass?", she asked, and I could hear a note of accusation in her tone. The histories of Fereldan and Orlais were not unknwon to me, though I had always assumed we had much more to fear from them than they us. Still, I had taken her food, so I was beholden to her, though the entire truth seemed unnecessary and a bit unwieldy for the moment.

"I am searching for a friend. You?" She unclipped her breastplate at the shoulders and exhaled deeply. I was momentarily taken aback; she seemed far too attractive to be a warrior. If she squeezed herself into an ornate dress she could have passed for Queen Anora. She already had the hair to match, though hers was stuck to her forehead with sweat and grime.

She stood up to remove her legguards and said, her brow furrowed as she recounted, "I lead my men against a barbarian warparty in the pass on my lord's orders. We defeated them and attempted to capture the survivors, but they lead us into a blizzard. I attempt to return to Aubusson with what few of my men lived, but a brigand and his thralls slayed them and chased me into the forest."

I didn't know how to respond so we sat in silence as she undid her belt and let the chainmail slide off her shoulders. She wore a stained off-white shirt with a few wooden buttons down the front, and a pair of brown pants underneath. I could see now that she had strong arms and broad shoulders for a woman.

"Must you stare?", she said wearily, as she began to unbutton her shirt. It made sense of course, that she wasn't simply removing her armor to be free of its weight, but I was still surprised that she would go about bathing while I was present. "I would be grateful all the same if you would spare me from your gaze, for a moment at least."

I attempted to divert my vision, but I am but a man, and a man is a lustful and lecherous fool. Her skin trembled as she stepped into the cold water of the pond, and a shiver crawled up her back. She carried herself with an air of power. It was more than simple brute strength, though I could tell she had plenty of that. In addition, though, she had a grace about her that was uncommon to most soldiers I had met.

"Who this friend you're after?", she asked, stretching her arms out in the water. I took my time formulating an answer that wouldn't reveal any sensitive information (such as Morrigan's status in regards to the chantry or anything about the child) and would not indicated there was anything left to be revealed. Naturally, the best course would be to simply say as little as possible.

"She is a mage. We've travelled together before."

"Oh?", she responded and turned around. It took a considerable effort to avert my eyes again.

"I... we were lovers."

Veronique raised her eyebrows and laid down in the shallow water, facing me.

"Why is she running, I wonder?", she said as she rested her chin in her hand.

"As do I."

"You are an apostate?", she said, and from the way she said it, there seemed to be no doubt in her mind that it was so.

"No. I am not." This was the truth, but she was aware of my deception.

"Your friend is, though.", she said, with a victorious grin. "Is she an abomination?"

I quickly said no, but it was without thinking. The more reasonable part of me was sure that Morrigan was not, but how could I know? She had manipulated me from the start and yet here I was, following her on account of a single teary-eyed confession. Perhaps I was but another part of some demon's grand machinations to enslave humanity, or whatever it is demons' plots entail. Only the maker knew, and he didn't seem very keen on informing me.

There was silence for awhile, and then Veronique washed her clothes in the pond. When she was done, the waters were still clear and enticing, and I considered returning to its embrace. It was growing cold, however, even despite the midday sun, so I put on my shirt and then stretched out my legs.

"What do you intend to do?", I asked Veronique, who was staring, deep in thought, into the distance. She didn't answer immediately, and I was about to ask again just before she responded.

"Wait, I suppose. I am sure Fortescue will be waiting for me if I return to Orlais, and with all of his minions I would stand little chance against him."

"Fortescue?", I asked.

"Claude Fortescue. The bandit who ambushed me and my men.", she paused for a moment, looking forlorn. "He is a... hero, of sorts, to some of the lesser people in Orlais."

"Why did he attack you?"

"He has demanded he be made a chevalier, despite his history. It is possible that he somehow seeks to prove his worth by killing me." I wondered what about his history might have made him unfit to join the chevaliers, but this didn't seem to be an appropriate moment for wit, so I kept my remarks to myself.

"You say you are looking for your lover, but you are still here. How come?"

I looked around to see if perhaps the shaman might show an aptitude for timely arrivals, but he was still nowhere to be seen.

"My guide is looking for her trail. If he doesn't return soon, though, I may be forced to continue without him."

"Do you... need help? You are nice, for a Fereldan, and I have nowhere to go.", she asked, with no small amount of hesitation. For some reason simply asking to go with me had embaressed her. I suppose she was asking for help more than she was offering it, and I could tell she was very proud.

I accepted her offer with little deliberation. I was wary of her loyalties, of course, but it would cost me nothing to simply let her go with me. I was in no shape to fight, either, and I suspected that neither was the shaman. I also didn't relish the idea of travelling with no sane person to talk to.

The journey ahead seemed to look less bleak as Veronique and I waited for the Shaman to return.


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry for the short chapter, but I'm going to be re-writing the first chapter next and I thought this was a pretty good place to stop.

Thanks for the reviews, they're always appreciated!

*

The Shaman returned just as the sun dipped below the horizon. When he caught sight of Veronique, his eyes bulged and he went into hysterics. He ranted and raved that she was of the West, which was true. He seemed to believe that that was reason enough to leave her behind, or better yet, to kill her and stick her head on a pike as a warning to the other Westerners. Veronique took offense to either plan, and for a moment I feared I would have to intervene, but in the end the shaman grumbled a concession and came to my side, whispering in hushed tones.

"He found a hair.", he whispered and showed me a long black hair that he had clenched in his hand the entire time.

"You needn't whisper."

The shaman looked scornfully at Veronique, who momentarily stopped pulling on her armor to return the favor. "She hates him. She would kill him if you weren't here, he knows." Veronique overheard this and groaned.

"I do not hate you, old man, but you try my patience."

The shaman gave me a look, but I did not oblige him. His mistrust was not entirely without merrit, seeing as he was Avverian and she Orlesian, but the suspicions of a mad shaman do not often hold up to much scrutiny, let alone form solid evidence to be held in favor of one decision over another.

"She speaks in gibberish! She is mad! She will be the end of us, the end of the old g-"

"Quiet!", I shouted at him, and he obeyed. Veronique had lost interest in his ramblings already, to my relief, and when she at last pulld her helm over her golden hair we followed the old man.

On the way, I asked Veronique if she was expecting us to meet trouble. She said that she did not, but that any number of dangers could befall us, chief among them being the Avvar. When she said this, the shaman chuckled, but he was ignored. According to my book knowledge of the Avvar, they were indeed something to be feared. Even if it were untrue there were surely threats enough that our guard was best left up.

Just past the Southern edge of the forest was a small hill covered in dry yellow grass. We climbed over it on our way, but as I looked back toward the forest I recalled the first conversation Morrigan and I ever shared.

We made our camp just outside Lothering, having shared few words since leaving Flemeth's hut. Alistair sat near the fire brooding and the dog was asleep. On a hill a few meters away Morrigan stood, bathed in the moonlight, staring south toward the Wilds. I couldn't see her face, but her stance seemed to betray sadness or regret.

I began to climb the hill and when I was near her I found an air of silence so thick that even if I had mustered the courage to try and break it I surely would have failed. I stood behind her awkwardly for a few moments, and was about to return to my tent when she spoke.

"Do you need something? Or did you wish to continue staring at my back? I could just continue to ignore you if that is what you desire.", she said sarcastically. It was my fault, in a way, for asking that she speak her mind before we left.

"I was wondering what you were doing."

"What does it look like I'm doing, Warden?"

"I have a name. I do not call you Witch."

She laughed. "No, you do not, though you may feel free to do so. I'm afraid I've already forgotten your name, and I doubt it will not happen again."

"Do you dislike me?", I asked. She finally tore her gaze from the forest in the distance and looked at me.

"That depends. In your mind, are like and dislike opposites, or is dislike merely an abscence of like? If the latter, than yes, I dislike you. If the former, then you have given me no reason to dislike you. Yet."

She looked me over a few times, and her piercing gaze made me uncomfortable. I shifted my weight around and avoided looking into her eyes.

"Is that all?", she asked, crossing her arms.

"You looked upset from over there.", I said, looking back toward the campfire. Alistair had retired to his tent, and the fire was beginning to sputter.

"Maybe I am, Warden. 'Tis not easy to leave everything they have ever known. The physical act is simple, but emotionally...", she sighed ,"I did not think I would care."

"I know what you mean.", I said, and I did. At that point I desired nothing more than to forget being a Grey Warden and to return to the Tower and my books. Had I known that I might never do so, I would have thrown myself off the highest cliff I could find, but I thankfully did not have the gift of foresight.

Morrigan was much less beligerent thereafter, but it was late and I can't remember what we discussed. When I went off to sleep, she said "Goodnight, Drevor", and I smiled for the first time since I had left the Tower.

The next day she chose not to remember any of it.

"Here. He found it here."

The forest had all but disappeared. The ground was flat, as far as the eye could see, though it all sloped upwards in front of us for as far as I could see. Further off in the same direction I could see the peak of whatever mountain we were now scaling.

The silence was disturbed for a moment by the rustling of grass behind us. I turned around, and saw a billowing mass of black gaining on us.

"He is sorry. She would- she would kill the Old God! He is not sorry!", the old man said. As the shapes grew closer I could see they were men, clad in black cloaks that drew around and in front of them, obscuring their shape into that of a black cloud.

Veronique drew her sword and charged at them. I began to conjure a fire when I felt a sharp pain on the back of my head. The world seemed to turn and I fell to the ground, unconsious.


	7. Chapter 7

Heyo, readers. Sorry for taking so long to get this chapter done, but nanowrimo has been kicking my ass and in trying to get caught up I had to put this story on the back-burner for a bit.

*

I could feel my mind being scoured as I struggled to regain consciousness. A million different memories went through my mind at once. I sat in the library, squirming under the gaze of the girl everyone said was strange; I raised my sword up, and brought down upon Loghain; I felt terror and then pain as the darkspawn burst through the tower door and their arrows pierced my flesh; I was with Morrigan, at Redcliffe, the night before we left for Denarim.

When I managed to focus my thoughts I could see glimpses of a great library, with shelves that stretched onward into infinity. They were full of books that seemed familiar, though I couldn't remember where I'd seen them. A few of them littered the floor, and by their orientation I could see they hadn't been deliberately placed there but carelessly dropped.

Twice I came to the room and then went numb and fell through the floor, before being returned to the endless parade of meaningless memories. The third time I found myself among the dusty tomes I watched an owl flutter by, haphazardly picking books off the shelves and throwing them to the carpet. When it saw me it opened its beak and performed a crude mimicry of speech.

"Sleep! Sleep!", it said. It threw another book to the ground, and the paralysis crawled up my spine. Through force of will I took a sluggish step forward, toward the owl, who threw another. I reached a hand out toward it, and it began to panic. I could feel myself beginning to slide through the floor when the owl grabbed a leather-bound book in its sharp talon, and accidentally tore the cover. An immense pain seeped into my mind and I cried out. The feeling freed me for a moment and I grabbed the owl by its leg, which felt like air between my fingers.

It flapped its wings in frustration and swung the claws on its other leg at me, but it seemed either myself or the owl existed only partially here, and all of its efforts towards escape amounted to the feeling of a cool breeze against my skin.

"Stop.", I commanded, and it ceased its struggle. I was correct to assume that I could control it while it was took residence here, and so I ordered it to return the books to their places. It did so without question, as if in a trance. When it finished, it returned to me and stood on the carpet at attention.

I tried to ask it a question, but my words were jumbled. I was numb again, and the library began to grow dark. "Begone." I muttered as I was swallowed by the void.

Then I slept for some time, and awoke for a short moment to find myself draped over the shoulder of a large and hairy man with pale skin that appeared even less colorful against the black cloak on his back that swirled around like smoke. My hands and feet were bound by rope, but I was able to move my neck enough to see some of our surroundings. It was early in the morning and the sun was too busy hiding behind the mountains to shield me from the bitter embrace of the frozen dark. The cold didn't seem to affect my captors, who ignored the falling snow even as it gathered in their hair.

"He's awake.", said the man behind the one carrying me. He had a short beard and thinning hair, despite his apparent youth.

"Good timing.", said another, from in front of me.

"Quiet.", the man holding me said, and the others obeyed. There were at least 3 of them, but when they had attacked, there looked to be at least 6. Since they had not blindfolded me, it was a safe assumption that knowing how many there were would be of no help to me.

After a few minutes of walking the man at the back pulled a parcel from his bag. He unwrapped the paper, and I saw it was cooked meat. He sniffed it and, appearing content with the scent, offered it to me.

"Here. You look like hell. Last thing we need is you dropping dead of famine." I hesitated, but my stomach was growling, so I accepted his offer and he tore off a small bit from the piece in his hand and tossed it into my waiting mouth. The meat was cold, tough, and unseasoned, but it was good to eat again. He tore off another bit and threw it, but missed.

"I'd untie you, but we can't have you casting your spells. Still seems wrong to me, tyin' up a little twiggy guy like you.", he said, ripping another piece off. I felt the man carrying me turn his head.

"I told you to be quiet."

The man shrugged and rolled his eyes before giving me another piece. His eyes were then drawn away from me, toward something in front of us, and he smiled. I could hear a small bustle from the same direction.

We passed through a wooden gateway and down a lonely street. Occasionally I caught a glimpse of a person peeking through the window of a rickety wooden hut, or someone staring at us from the back of an alley. They might have been afraid of me for any number of reasons, but I thought it more likely my captors whom the people hid from; at one point I locked eyes with a man behind a barrel on the side of the street, but the man disappeared as the gaze of the black-cloaked soldier behind me fell in his direction.

I was brought through another gate, this one of smooth black stones stuck together with little care for aesthetic. I had little time to admire the architecture of the wall or what appeared to be a barracks, however, before we entered the keep. It was a modest construct, and appeared to be much older than the wall around it. The carvings on the walls were chipping away, and some of the beams looked unhealthy and rotten. Two large, rough tables ran parallel to the chamber's length, while a third smaller but delicately carved on sat perpendicular, at the end of the room atop a small step. A large red rug stretched between the door and the ornate table.

The hall was empty save a man in a common vest who greeted my captors. His voice was high-pitched and submissive. A servant.

"Ah, good morning-", he began.

"The Varang has not yet paid me, yet he expects I shall suffer the company of fools. In this he is incorrect. Why is he not in his throne playing puppeteer, as usual?", said the man carrying me. The servant was unresponsive, his jaw hanging agape below his face.

My captor dropped me on one of the tables harshly, though it bent with the force and thankfully I wasn't hurt. The servant looked at me, and I felt a bit sheepish, as if I were on display.

"T-this is... the...", he stuttered, and I finally was able to see the man who had carried me. He was large, larger than the other two black-cloaked men. His face was pitted and scarred from many battles, and permanently twisted in a scowl. He had a short red stubble on the top of his head and his chin, while under his nose sat a large and rugged mustache.

Over his torso he wore some leather rags held down by the straps of his equipment, but much of his flesh was visible, as were the marks and brands of a veteran soldier.

"Tell me where the Varang is before I lose my composure.", he said, and the servant beckoned he follow. The two disappeared through a door at the back of the room. The man with the food untied my feet, allowing me to pull my arms under me and around to my front, which was a sight more comfortable.

"What are you doing?", the other one asked. I pulled myself up and sat down on the bench as another servant came over.

"Do you require anything of our kitchen?", he asked. The two black-cloaks waved him off, and he turned to me. I requested he bring me some food and a drink, and he went returned to the room on the far side of the hall from where I sat.

"When Finnvid comes back he's gonna' be mad. At the both of us."

"He's always mad at us.", the other said, pulling another piece of meat from his bag and biting into it. "Hell, is there anythin' he isn't mad at?"

The other, who sported a long and dirty beard, shook his head and went through the door at the leader, Finnvid apparently, had gone into. The other sat down on the bench across from me and bit into his snack.

"Hope you aren't worn from the trek. You shoulda' been out of it the whole way an' then some, least that's what the old shaman said. Then again, he knocked you out right quick, which is more than the rest o' us coulda' done, I think."

"Then, you know I'm a wizard?", I asked, and he laughed in response.

"O' course. If you weren't, we'd have just killed you, if it were my choice. You got too much power in them fingers o' yours for my likin'."

The shaman had told them, of course. Still, I was surprised, and I was surprised that the man was so open. From the black cloaks I had expected they were assassins, or at least a more secretive bunch. The only one who seemed to have any subtlety was the bearded man.

"Oh, I'm Vexid by the way. I'd shake your hand but I reckon you're liable to set me on fire. The chap with the beard is Voxid, and the cranky one is Finnvid."

"It's a pleasure.", I said with a bit of sarcasm. The kitchen servant was coming towards us with a tray on which sat a goblet and a bowl. The contents of the bowl were steaming, and smelling the food brought my appetite back in full force.

"Och, that hurts. I understand where you're comin' from, but I was just doin' my job.", he said with a joking sympathy as the servant set the tray down in front of me. It was some kind of stew, though I didn't waste my time trying to figure out what was in it. I'm sure it wasn't that good, but at the time it was the greatest stew I'd ever tasted. I hadn't had anything beyond a snack since entering the pass, and I hadn't had a hot meal in weeks. The drink, whatever it was, was equally refreshing.

The door at the back opened and Voxid and Finnvid came out, followed by a white-haired man in modest apparel, though it looked positively regal in comparison to the warm but drab robes most of the people in the town wore.

"You are Drevor, yes?", the white-haired man said as he approached. Finnvid and Voxid passed me and left out the main door with Vexid. I was relieved to be free of their company.

"Yes. Are you the Varang?", I asked him. I assumed from previous conversations' that the Varang, whoever he was, had ordered my capture. It was only a little reassuring that he didn't want me dead, and even that was probably subject to change.

"Oh, goodness no.", the man replied. "I am Thorolf, head adviser to the Varang, his lordship Jotan inn Swarta."

He extended his hand, but I didn't shake. As welcoming as they were being, they had kidnapped me.

"Cease these pleasantries. I am a prisoner here, so do not treat me as a guest."

He seemed offended at my statement, but I had no intention of befriending the Varang or any of his thralls. They were but another delay, and it pained me to think I might never find Morrigan because of these constant hindrances.

"There is no need to be unkind, sir. I would advise you take a more respectful tone when you speak with Jotan, for he is a wrathful man. But please, for now I bid you rest.", he said, and led me to a common room on the second floor. He pointed to one door leading from it and told me I could sleep there if I wished. I protested and asked to speak with the Varang immediately, but Thorolf denied my request, explaining that Jotan was very busy and left. One of the guards cut the rope around my wrists and then took position just outside the door, next to the other.

There was a warm fireplace with a roaring blaze inside, and I sat down on the rug next to it. I didn't want to sleep for fear that it might postpone my counsel with the Varang even further, but I ultimately deferred to the judgment of my own body, and took a nap on the carpet.


	8. Chapter 8

Whelp, sorry this chapter took so long. I just couldn't get anything I was happy with, so I decided I should just post it at 4am because at any other time I would have the common sense not to post it until I think it's ready and it just won't get done that way. So, uh, here you go.

*

I awoke in an achy stupor with frozen flesh. The fire was gone and with it most of the light in the room. I pulled myself up and groaned with the strain as a shiver ran up my back. Despite having only just awoken, I longed for the comfort of a bed and the embrace of a blanket. The room was empty, or at least I assumed it was, yet I could feel the gaze of prying eyes upon me staring from the dark nooks and niches.

I stumbled through the black to one of the side doors, nearly tripping over a rug on the way. A large bed in the center occupied most of the room, just barely illuminated by the moon's light coming through a window too small for an adult to fit through. I could still feel the glower of some hidden pair of eyes, but I was too tired to regard the imaginary force there, and collapsed face-first onto the bed.

I rolled over to get more comfortable and tried to shut my eyes and sleep, but now I felt restless, as if my exhaustion had been as imaginary as the presence haunting me. Something caught my eye in the corner- a tiny spot of yellow sticking out from the darkness. It was miniscule, no bigger than the smallest bit of gravel, but it was growing, it seemed. A shape began to form in the darkness, just beside the window, but I was in the light and all I could see was that yellow orb, and then another took its place beside it. It was a pair of eyes, eyes very familiar to me.

I seized up as if there were some horror of the deep come to devour me alive. My eyes began to sting from lack of blinking, but I kept them unerringly open. Finally, she took a step forward into the light and I let the air escape my lungs.

"W-.... what...?", I managed to force out between labored breaths. It felt like a parasite was leeching the breath from my lungs. Morrigan moved her lips but her speech was muffled as if she were on the other side of a thick door.

I began to gasp for air and I figured the apparition to be some angry spirit consuming my soul. I tried to cast a spell in the hopes it might disrupt it, but my arms didn't respond. I could do little but watch onward. Morrigan's ghost looked worried, as if none of this were meant to happen. She made a motion to stab herself in the hand, but her other hand was empty. Still, blood began to flow from a fresh wound, and as it dripped down her hand I could feel my breath return to me.

"Are you alright?", she asked, and though her voice was far away I could make out what she was saying. "'Tis supposed to be a simple spell, I... I am sorry."

"That was... you did that?", I asked between gasps of air. "You almost... killed me."

"I said I was sorry.", she replied, and sounded hurt. I didn't remember ever hearing her speak in such a tone.

"What... spell is this?", I asked. I knew of very advanced spells for communicating over long distances, but their complexity limited their uses, and for sending a message of more than a short sentence or command the concentration required was immense. This didn't seem like those, though. "Are you really here, or is this an illusion?"

"I am here, for now. 'Tis a spell I learned from Flemeth's grimoire, although I apparently did not learn it sufficiently."

"It looked like blood magic.", I said.

"It isn't. If the spell had worked as intended, this:", she said, gesturing to the wound on her hand ,"would not have been necessary." A glowing light came from her unmarked hand and moved toward the wounded one. The wound hardened and blistered and fell off in a matter of seconds.

"Why did you come?", I asked, getting up from the edge of the bed. She avoided making eye contact with me, a strange deviation from her usual piercing glare, which felt as if she was reading every thought in my head and thought they were all foolish.

"I'm not entirely sure, I just... felt... regret." She finally looked at me, and for a moment I thought she was kidding, and I wondered if a sympathetic response would only earn me more of her scorn.

"You don't have to go on alone.", I pleaded. Like a dog, a little dog begging for a treat. She shook her head.

"I do have to. Do not presume to know m-"

"I don't presume to know anything! I am fully aware that I don't know why you're doing this!", I said between clenched teeth. I wanted to yell it but it would be rude to shout at such an hour.

She sighed in frustration and finally looked into my eyes. Were I not angry I might have been scared by that intense glower.

I stood up from the bed and looked out the window to avoid making eye contact and to be calmed by the falling snow. "You came to say that you can't tell me anything. That nothing is different."

"I came to say goodbye.", she snarled. "I can leave now if that is what you wish." I stewed in silence for a while. She had me under her thumb again and there wasn't anything I could do about it. After a few tense moments I muttered "No."

I turned away from the window to face Morrigan. Her lips were drawn out into a stern line, and then one end perked up into a mischievous grin as she put her hand on my shoulder. I let her draw me close to her, but I pulled away when she tried to kiss me.

"Oh, timid now, are we?", she whispered into my ear, her cheek bristling my unkempt whiskers as she rubbed her face against mine.

I said "I don't think you really care for me." She ignored my glare and kissed my lips gently while wrapping her arms around my neck, like a spider embracing her prey.

"What would cause you to think that?", she asked after pulling her lips an inch away from mine. My mouth was already trembling from her taste. Suddenly, I didn't want to talk anymore- I wanted to throw her on the bed, to tear off her leggings, and to take her. She realized this, of course. I'm sure she was planning on it all along, and she smiled again as I finally moved my hands from my sides to her hips.

"Never mind.", I said and pulled her against me. She let out an 'Oh' but she didn't resist as my frigid hands ran up along the bare skin of her back, sending a shiver up her spine. I kissed her and she pulled me onto the bed on top of her.

"But you have me intrigued, now. Speak your mind.", she said as if all the flirting and kissing from before was just a way to segue into a talk about feelings. My mind was so full of the thoughts of what I wanted to do to her that I hardly remembered what it was I had said.

I proposed a compromise. "Not now." It came out more as a demand than a proposition, but she accepted it anyway.

"Whatever shall we do now, then, if talking is off the table?"


	9. Chapter 9

No excuses! I took forever on this chapter and there isn't really a good reason except that a ton of cool games have come out and I've been busy with school and also I maybe started writing a Mass Effect fanfic but despite any of those things I am not going to drop this story! Thanks for reading, and a special thanks to those of you who took the time out to review.

Someone knocked on the door and it woke me from a deep slumber. The bed was empty apart from me, though this hardly surprised me. It was all a fevered dream, I told myself, a machination of my exhausted mind. I didn't want to believe that, I convinced myself that this was different from a dream. If it were a dream I would know, there would be something odd about it, and the cynical side of me said, "Morrigan doesn't care for me; that she would voluntarily come to me is fantastical to say the least." It was the same cynic that once said, "She's manipulating me".

There was breakfast on the end table- an unidentifiable meat and a piece of soggy fruit. I nibbled the fruit and tentatively poked the meat with my finger when I remembered the knock on the door. There was a standing mirror in the corner, and I was shocked when I saw the wretched creature staring back at me. His cheeks were gaunt, his eyes sunken, and prickly black hair stuck out at awkward angles from his chin. His jacket was torn and dirty and, as if he didn't look shabby enough, a large welt jutted from the back of his head that made his dirty hair look odd. There was little I could do about any of it, so I pressed some wrinkles from my coat and opened the door.

There was a young woman with short blonde hair there who looked as though she hadn't slept in years. I never saw her blink. She said "The Varang requests your presence immediately. Please follow me." She had a dead voice like that of a soulless thrall. It brought me back to a cold night in Redcliff and deepened the overbearing chill in the air.

She didn't give me any time to answer and set a quick pace out of the room and back down to the first level of the keep. We didn't stop there, and continued downward into a musty lower floor. There was a guarded entrance and I assumed – correctly- that this was a dungeon. I noted thick layers of dust and intricately designed cobwebs on the torture instruments as well as quite a few that had broken out of lack of usage. That they had fallen to disrepair was of no small comfort to me.

I could hear the clanging of sword and grunts of men that accompanied a fight from further in the dungeon and the girl was leading me straight towards where these noises were coming from. As we neared I could make out very faint but labored breathing, and two shadows danced along the floor as we came upon the torchlit chamber in which the fight was still raging.

One of the two fighters was very young, almost more so than the servant girl who had led me here. He wore a bulky, fur-lined set of armor and seemed more interested in deflecting the other man's attacks than striking back. They circled around until I could see his young, smiling face, relishing the excitement while it lasted. The other man went for a thrust and within a moment his hand was on the ground but his wrist hadn't moved. The Varang gracefully spun out of the way of the blood spurting from his stump.

The man didn't scream, but grunted and reached towards his sword with his good hand. Before he could close his hand around it, the Varang stabbed him in the chest and then he lay still on the ground while the blood pooled around him.

"Pfeh.", the Varang said. The young woman who had led me hear brought him a cloth which he used to wipe the blood from his sword. "Thank you Astrid. Dispose of the body and meet us in the main hall."

She stared at him without blinking and he squinted his eyes in response. "Get rid of him", he said, gesturing to the body at his feet, "Then go upstairs."

Apparently satisfied with these directions, she went to work, hefting the heavy man over her thin frame and carrying him off through the huge doors at the end of the room and I lost sight of her as she rounded a corner. The Varang turned his head and studied me for a minute.

"Well?" I asked. He seemed taken aback- I'm sure he wasn't used to being interrupted, but I was too angry to care. "What are you waiting for?"

"Have I done something to offend?", he asked like he had done nothing wrong.

"You sent your men to attack me, dragged me maker knows how far out of my way, and you're still wasting my time."

He took a deep breath, sighed for awhile and then slowly made his way toward me, studying me again. Then he smiled and said, "You're quite a bit different than any other Witchling I've met. What was your name?"

"Witchling?"

"Wicked Progeny, Wielder of storms, Witchling." After a moment of careful study, he added, "Mage. You are a mage, aren't you?"

I didn't remember being called anything but a mage before, but from the perspective of a commoner I'm sure those other names seemed apt.

"Yes. My name is Drevor." I replied. I might have denied being a mage, but even supposing he believed me I doubted he would simply release me. He finally sheathed his sword and then walked past me. I followed him out of the dungeon and up the stairs and into the feast hall, and I found the desolation of the keep unnerving. From the lack of guards I presumed the Varang wasn't much worried about his safety.

That great and familiar chamber was empty before we arrived save Finnvid, who sat near the far wall with an empty mug on the table before him, his chin stained with dark mead. When the Varang sat down in his throne Finnvid stood up and slowly made his way over to us.

"Not even midday and already you're up and drinking. I applaud you, Captain." The Varang said and clapped his hands. Finnvid growled in response but apart from that ignored him.

"I still haven't been paid for bringin' in this Witchling." Finnvid said, pointing at me with his thumb. "I trust you've just been very, very, busy up until now."

The Varang chuckled and said "Oh, Finnvid, if only you knew the troubles one in my position must suffer! I would give you a lecture, but I don't want to bore our guest. If you'll just go and bring dear Astrid here I will ensure your money is delivered posthaste." The Varang's nostrils flared.

"I'm not your damn errand boy, Jotan. I'm gonna' go find me some replacements, and when I'm done you'd best have my money." Finnvid said and stormed off. Just then Astrid came from the door the Varang and I had come from, and Jotan clapped his hands.

"Ah, my dear Astrid! Please restrain our friend." Astrid looked at me and said "It has been done since the mage arrived."

"Well, do it again, just to be safe." Jotan said and Astrid closed her eyes in concentration. I tried to summon some energy into my hand and my suspicions were confirmed when nothing happened. Astrid was somehow capable of muting my abilities, much like a Templar. Unlike any templar I had ever met, though, she did it without my knowledge. Usually I could feel an oppressive wave, like a weight dragging me backwards, but now I just felt normal.

"What do you want from me?" I asked. The Varang took a deep breath and said "I need someone of your talent to help against the Westfolk. We wish only to return to our old ways but safety is more important than tradition. I believe you can help us achieve the first."

"I'm not a mercenary." I replied. He put his hand to his chin and squinted at me. "More the scholarly type, are you? Perhaps you might teach a few tricks to-"

"No. I'm not going to teach your subjects." I said, interrupting him. I didn't know how to teach a person to resist the temptations of the fade, and the world had enough abominations already.

"Ah… then it appears we have a problem. You see, I want _certain things._ I want them very badly, in fact. Badly enough that I might kill for them. I can't kill you, of course, because that wouldn't accomplish anything!"

I narrowed my eyes. "I might instead kill the person you've followed here."


End file.
